A/N: Thanx so much for the amazing reviews...I was surprised to get so many so soon. Here is the next chapter, by request!! I hope to not leave ya hanging for to long!!!

Disclaimer: Once again...The story is mine, the boys are Eric Kripke's and CW's...

Sam shot up straight. Looking around, a blinding light made him shut his eyes. He lay back and stay that way a moment. He was unable to discern where he was, but he wished that someone would turn down the damned lights. As if on cue, the lights dimmed and he saw that he was in a hospital. A heart monitor was a attached to his chest, an IV needle jammed in his left arm and an oxygen tube down his nose. He stared at all this, and wanted to scream. What had happened? What was he doing here? He could not remember anything after getting to the airport almost 20 minutes before the plane took off.

He had gotten a collect call from Jay, asking Sam to forgive him. He had told him to take a flying leap, and that he when he got home in 18 hours to have his shit out of the house. Then he hung up. The rest was foggy and hard to put together. His memory was like a goddamned Rubix Cube. No matter how you turned it, another piece just seemed to get in the way.

About five minutes later a doctor came in carrying a clip board. He read it over, then looked down at Sam. He smiled sweetly, then began. "Mr. Maxwell, how are we feeling this morning?" He pulled a chair up to the bed, then placed a gentle hand on Sam's wrist. Sam saw a wedding ring on the man's other hand. A family man.

"I would feel better if I knew why the hell I was in here." His voice was hoarse and crackly. He licked his lips, and felt a small cut at the base of them. It went down past where his tongue could reach. He lifted his right hand to it, and felt a 2 inch, jagged slice from his bottom lip to the tip of chin. The doctor, Dr. Davison, looked genuinely sorry for Sam's predicament.

"You came in two days ago after being in a plane crash." He never took his eyes off Sam. Sam furrowed his brows, trying to remember something, but it only made his head hurt. "You see, the plane you were on nose dived into D.C., just at the Maryland/Virginia border." This time he looked away, trying to hide his emotions. Sam could tell he was a man who showed them easily. He liked that.

"The thing is, Mr. Maxwell, is simply this..." He tried to focus on Sam, but Sam could see he was pained. "Out of 245 passengers, you were the only survivour." Dr. Davison cleared his throat, then stood. Sam followed him with his eyes.

"What? That's insane, I don't...What?" he could not remember the crash, let alone believe any of it. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he had fallen asleep at the airport reading that damned Dr. Phil book his mother had sent him. Yeah, that had to be it.

"Please Mr. Maxwell..." He began, but Sam put a hand in front of him, stopping him. "Enough with the mister crap, just call me Sam."

"Sam," Dr. Davison turned, setting the clipboard on the food tray beside the bed. "You have to understand that this is a strange case in and of itself." Turning back to Sam, Dr. Davison crossed his arms. "To be the lone survivour of a major crash such as this, that is something for the history books." Dr. Davison placed one hand on the table, and ran the other through his short brown hair. Sam saw how handsome he really was, too bad he was married.

Sam chuckled to himself. Just what he did not want to be remembered for. A Robert Ripley case. He could see it now: "24 year old man has brush with death. Walks away from plane crash unscathed. Sole survivour!" Then one of those goofy cartoon sketches off him walking away from it. Yet that was not the truth, was it? Here he was in the hospital, hooked top a bunch of monitors cut and bruised from head to toe.

"The good thing about all this," The doctor continued. Sam cocked an eyebrow. What the hell was so good about all this? It was almost laughable.

"You can leave at anytime, you were only here this long for observation." He looked at the metal board once again. "There was no surgery of any kind, only Demerol for pain, which is why you were sleeping the last two days. You did have a mild concussion, which is why your memory is spotty, but after a while that should all come back."

Sam nodded, not really listening. It was all more than he could handle. He just wanted to leave, to go home and put this all behind him.

"So you are saying that I can go, like right now?"

The doctor nodded. "I just have to check you over one last time, then you are free to leave."

He reached for a blood pressure cuff and velcroed it around Sam's left biceps. He pumped it up, and then placed his stethoscope just at the edge of it. He waited for it to fully expand, then he released a bit of the air, watching the gauge drop slowly.

"Okay, your blood pressure is 100 over 85, which is very healthy. Now to take your temperature." He slipped the cuff off, then picked a digital thermometer off the small table. Placing it in Sam's mouth, he pressed a button. Within seconds a tiny alarm sounded, and he removed it.

"98.7. Also normal." he wrote this info down then took a pen light from his coat pocket. "Okay, watch the light with your eyes but don't move your head." He instructed. Sam did as he was told. After a few swipes with the light, Dr. Davison nodded.

"You are amazingly healthy. Aside from the cut on your lip, and a few bumps and bruises, you are in perfect shape. It is truly a miracle you survived at all." Dr. Davison scratched his head, baffled at the sight before him. "Maybe you just have an angel looking out for you." He smiled, then signed his chart.

Sam smiled back. He had never put much stock into faith and angels and all that gobbledy-gook before, but maybe Dr. Davison was right. That fact that he was here, lying safe and unharmed, while everyone else on that flight wasn't, well there must be a reason.

"I'll send one of the nurses in with some papers for you to sign, then you can go ahead and get dressed." he began to walk out, then turned back. "Oh, by the way. Things like this happen for a reason. I don't believe in coincidences, so..." He shrugged his shoulders, then left the room.

XXXXX

About twenty minutes later a young nurse came in and unhooked him from all the tubes and wires. She smiled at him the entire time, and he faked a smile back, not wanting to tell her that it was him, not her. After signing his discharge papers, he headed for the bathroom to clean up.

Staring in the mirror at a face he had not seen in the last two days, he was shocked by how clean and free of damage it was. Save for that mark on his chin and a small bruise on his left cheek, there was nothing else to indicate he had been in a harrowing accident. Not until he undressed from he hospital garb, did he notice all the bruises on his chest and back. Some were in different shades of purple and blue, other were green and yellow. He counted at least ten on his chest, and turning at least another fifteen on his back.

Sam leaned on the sink, his eyes closed. He suddenly felt guilty. Angels be damned, something was wrong here, terribly wrong, and he wanted to know why he, a 24 year old lawyer was alive. As he looked back up into the mirror, the florescent light above it flickered, once, twice, then engulfed the room in extremely bright light. Sam covered his eyes, then hit the floor as his body was wracked with pain. He felt nauseous, lightheaded and dizzy. His hands felt for something, anything, but everything around him was gone and was replaced by emptiness and blinding white light. Then as soon as it had come, it was gone.

Sam fell backwards, hitting the floor door that had disappeared moments before, and his stomach lurched. He clutched himself tightly, terrified of what had just happened. Dr. Davison had been right. This had happened for a reason, but what? He stood, perhaps too fast, because the nausea over took him, and he vomited all over the tile floor.